Smile of War
by Ramzes
Summary: Daeron, the First of His Name, was only fourteen when he assumed the throne, yet he took it upon himself to finish what Aegon the Conqueror himself had failed at, to everyone's surprise. His mother's included. Part 7 of my Daenaera Velaryon series.


**A. N. **We don't actually know when Daenaera died and the fact that she's omitted from the list of people mentioned to have opposed Baelor's decision to imprison his sisters might indicate that she wasn't alive at the time. I am thinking of an installment where she dies young (not sure how to fit it in the series when this is No6 yet...) But here, I go with the possibility that she's still alive in the beginning of Daeron's reign, at least.

**Smile of War**

The fruit hang in branches so heavy that they almost touched the earth. Their colour was that of the dying sun and their fragrance such that it reached the Queen Mother's new chambers on their second floor, out of Maegor's Holdfast. Daenaera quite disliked it. After many attempts to grow them, the trees had finally taken root just when Aegon had started ailing. Their fruit had been one of the few meals he had enjoyed in his last days, so to Daenaera, their aroma would forever be one of death and feverish, yet unyielding hope that the disease might still retreat.

It hadn't.

The children's laughter startled her out of her stupor. She looked up just when they trotted into the drawing room. Elaena threw herself into the first chair she saw and little Daeron went to Daenaera and offered her a blood orange. Despite her reluctance, she took it and smiled. Viserys' grandson was generally unhappy when his presents were returned.

"Where have you been?" she asked. "Why isn't Rhaena with you?"

Elaena rolled her eyes. "She went praying," she said, clearly not understanding why her sister would do so. "And we were… I don't remember," she finished, quite unconvincingly.

Their attire did remember, clearly. They must have gotten themselves dirty building castles of mud or something like that. Daenaera did not comment, though. It was good to see life returning to normal, although it pained her somewhat to realize how fast her children had overcome their father's death.

"When is luncheon?" Elaena asked. "I'm starving."

The fact that her daughter was as lean as a rake was a constant wonder for Daenaera. Elaena was always starving.

"Soon," she said.

This answer did not feel reassuring to the seven-year-old. "Soon, how soon?"

"Do you want this?" Daeron asked and offered her a half-eaten blood orange he took out of his pocket. Daenaera had to chuckle at the face her daughter made.

"Urgh! No! It's gross! Let's read a story, instead."

Daenaera was quite surprised that Elaena would have the patience for reading when she didn't have to. But soon, she saw that this was not the plan. Because when they took the heavy, leather-bound tome and placed it on the table, it was Daeron, with the whole knowledge of his four years who opened it.

_He can read already?_ Daenaera was stunned to realize just how bright he was. Of course, she had started seeing his intellect quite early on but she had thought she might be prejudiced. Daeron was Elaena's constant companion – in the beginning, she had treated him like one of her dolls – and her youngest was perhaps the only one of her children she could truly enjoy motherhood with. Her boys had been entrusted to tutors almost from the cradle; Daena had always been more attached to her father and Rhaena was such a good child that she never needed any particular guidance. Besides, with Elaena, Daenaera had been more mature, instead of half a child herself, as she had been at the birth of her own Daeron. She could see her young self in Naerys now… So that meant that Daeron spend much of his time with her, as well.

The sun was shining, turning the children's silver hair into liquid gold, bathing both their faces, his concentrated on the book, her dreamy and with closed eyes. No doubt she was living the story. Daenaera smiled and for the first time since Aegon's death thought that the day was a beautiful one.

Until Viserys came to her chambers.

One look at his stormy face told her that something bad had happened.

"There will be a war," he said without preamble looking around.

For a moment, she stared at him and then laughed. "How silly of me. For a moment, I could swear you said that there would be a war…"

"That's what I said," he confirmed. "Don't you have any wine around?"

She did and poured him some, then watched him, wide-eyed, as he drained his goblet and extended it for more. Viserys was famous for never drinking wine during the day.

"What happened?" Daenaera asked after giving him time to compose himself.

"Your son proclaimed his intention to invade Dorne, that's what happened," Viserys snapped. "He stood before the council and said…"

Words failed him and Daenaera waited for him to find his self-control once again. Which, finally, he did.

"Who supported him?" Daenaera asked then, thinking that her son might be excused to some extent due to his youth. But his councilors? She could not extend the same courtesy to them.

"No one," Viserys said. "Everyone tried to dissuade him. Every last one. From me to the Lord Commander. He wouldn't listen."

She stared at him in horror. "He disregarded everyone's advice?"

A cold chill was slowly finding its way down her back.

Her goodbrother nodded. "That he did."

"But he doesn't even have dragons!" she exclaimed. "Dorne has never been conquered. We have left them alone and they have left us alone…"

"It isn't I you need to convince," Viserys interrupted. "That's what I said. It made no difference. You mean to tell me that he never did as much as hint before you?"

All of a sudden, Daenaera was furious. Viserys' suspicions were absurd! "He's fourteen, Viserys," she said tersely. "He yearns to prove his manhood. His mother is the last person he'd take advice from."

He sighed, reached for the carafe and reconsidered. "I'm sorry," he said. "It was just so unexpected." He paused. "We should have insisted on a regency, Daenaera."

_Yes_, she thought. _We should have._ "It wouldn't have changed much. Soon, he'll be fifteen."

They looked at each other helplessly. "I'll talk to him," she said.

"You'd better," he agreed.

Yet Daenaera could say it would be of no use. Her son had the Conqueror's crown but he had always dreamed a one of his own winning, the crown of martial glory. Viserys who had lived through a war knew better. Daenaera who had spent her entire life with the aftermath of a war knew better. The Small Council knew better.

But Daeron was the one with the greatest authority.

Viserys' face softened as he noticed the children for the first time. Like her, he had basically missed his own children's growing up because he had been growing up himself. Daenaera felt a brief pang at the thought that she and he, they were both young enough to be Daeron's parents. In another world, a one without the war defining them, they _might_ have been his parents. Perhaps her life with Viserys would have been different than the life she now had. She would have been different, as well. At the very least, she would not have left!

Their eyes met in a silent understanding and fear. Her son didn't realize that but there was a great chance for those children, so young and so beloved, to end up like Aegon had, like they had. She rose. "I'm going to him now," she announced, desperate to try anything.

But the smile Daeron met her with told her that her efforts would be in vain. It was the winning smile that made the crowds shout for him like they never had for Aegon and Viserys. The smile of confident youth. The smile of power going over one's head. The smile of war.


End file.
